


Incubus

by Chromosomefarm



Category: Star vs. The Forces Of Evil
Genre: M/M, Magic, Sleep Sex, Somnophilia, Submission, Submissive, demonic magic, dubcon, incubus, sleep creep, somno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 15:59:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18502270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromosomefarm/pseuds/Chromosomefarm
Summary: Overwhelmed with a supernatural sexual urge, Tom finds easy prey in a sleeping Marco.





	Incubus

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a thing! 
> 
> Haven't been slapped in the face by a story in a long time (and have no idea when the next Writing Moon will be), so I just went ahead and rode it out wholeheartedly, and here we are. I'm not sure if my writing style really suits the bright, goofy tone of Star Vs. (I think my art/comics do it better so that's been a majority of what I've done), but it would be a lie to say it wasn't fun (and honestly a good outlet) to get out some of this pretentious over-descriptive shit I've been sitting on in some form or another for probably a couple years. LOL
> 
> The couple of pieces of art below were done by yours truly. I think I'll try to put the second one behind a link because it's got jizz in it and I don't want to force you to look at it LMAO. 
> 
> As far as setting, it's pretty open-ended, but since character/relationships are kind of important milestones in Star Vs. it does make a little bit of a difference I guess. I'd say this story takes place sometime after Friendenemies and sometime before Star returns to Mewni (so, roughly the second half of the second season). Marco and Tom have hung out a couple times and are starting to warm up to each other, but still lowkey have some friction they're navigating. 
> 
> I guess there's no point in faffing about here, so the long and short of it is a majority of this story is pretty uh.... morally reprehensible, and believe me, that is not lost on me (or even the characters internally LMAO). That being said, if you don't think you can handle a story about what is essentially a rape, I implore you to spare yourself for your own sake. I like to think it takes the characters some interesting places with themselves and each other (certainly, an Attempt Was Made (TM)) but I think what it all boils down to is I just have always had a soft spot for somnophilia/sleep sex porn and I think this sort of ended up being a love letter to what I find appealing about it, problematic as it is. LMAO
> 
> If you have the stomach to give it a try, thanks so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> And if you don't, thanks so much for taking care of yourself and going to find something nicer! I really do appreciate it! 
> 
> C:

 

Tom felt like a _creep._  
  
Tom _WAS_ a creep.  
  
There was no other way to describe it, and in truth, he was being quite despicable, but he was hungry in a way that not his violent video games nor sugar cereals nor anything else had managed to assuage, and he didn’t know what else to do.  
  
He did feel bad about it… wasn’t that enough? He’d even been invited with a clear “anytime”, not only by Marco but the rest of the household. It was a fine gesture in and of itself, but that kind of thing had particularly distinct implications for Underworld denizens… whether they had known it or not.

 _This specifically,_ he wasn’t sure was covered, but to be fair he wasn’t in a mood to contemplate Underworld law at the moment anyway.  
  
He was _pretty sure_ he had at least one uncle or grandfather a ways up the family tree who had been an incubus. That seemed as good a place to put the blame as any. After all, was there a _better_ way to explain craving hot-blooded sex like popcorn or air?  
  
He faltered anxiously in the portal, aware of his own unhinged headspace and puffing like an agitated bull. It was like he could barely breathe, and it was shuddering in and out of him like he was suffocating.

He'd never felt this…debilitatingly _horny_ before.

His hand had not… been as satisfying as he’d hoped, perhaps due to some peculiar alignment of some moons, and here he was, feeling more _hungry, starving_ than familiar old aroused, but very much both just the same.  
  
He padded reluctantly out onto the floor, himself improperly dressed in only a loosely belted silk nightrobe, a step away from sleeping nude (he always got too hot…) and let the portal whisper shut behind him with a puff of broken suction that wafted out over the room.  
  
Marco was blissfully unaware as he slept, even as his hair fluttered in the breeze. Seemed like he could really be quite the deep sleeper for someone so vigilantly anxious. He was sprawled out over his twin mattress on his belly, well-formed nose mostly buried in his pillow. One leg lolled out on top of the covers, brown bare toes drinking in the moonlight and the AC. He must’ve been too hot too; Tom didn’t know how he couldn’t be in that full set of jam-jams. Then again, a lot of people in this house couldn’t be bothered to knock, so perhaps it was a necessary precaution.  
  
Case in point.  
  
Tom licked his lips nervously and swallowed. Earth Boy had this delicious, unshakeable softness about him like a prey animal, a guilty hot-and-salty pleasure like a squirmy white rat for a midnight snack. He supposed Marco was always this way, a little; it was just so much easier to notice now that he was so wholly unaware and vulnerable like this…  
  
His stomach twisted in guilt, but the dart-tip of his stupid nail-hard penis throbbed against his loose robe.

This would be a weird way to do it, but… maybe he would give Marco sweet dreams, at least…? He certainly didn’t wish for worse; in truth he _really_ hoped there was some chance of not being noticed at all. Perhaps then he could push this all away as a peculiarly involving twisted dream himself, and neither of them would have to acknowledge if it had ever even happened….  
  
That was gross wishful thinking, and he whined uncertainly, biting his lip, but nonetheless he forced himself to sink his knee onto the mattress (thankfully not too squeaky) and clamber up onto the foot of the bed, where he perched, hesitant, horned and hungry like the proverbial monster out from among the dustbunnies.  
  
He could’ve just called Marco… could just wake him up even now, he supposed. But he was so viscerally desperate and the proposition was so odd… they’d only spent a couple okay nights in each others’ company at this point, and it would be _weird,_ wouldn’t it? To just tell a guy you _needed_ to… _drink_ him, or _eat_ him, or whatever this was? Even he wasn’t sure he could explain it, and even less sure if he’d be able to handle it if Marco refused… He shivered, feeling raw and volatile.  
  
Star might’ve understood, surely very much accustomed to the wild throes of magical pubescence herself, but the idea of coming up out of the blue to harass _her_ with this sort of thing, while she was still off-dimension, while things between them were still…. _weird…._ That seemed even worse.  
  
And frankly, she had more firepower.  
  
Marco was… _safe_ . Well, safe _enough._

So it was settled then. Tom would… borrow him. It really would only take a minute or two...if it were anything like normal. He would be in and out, and _in and out,_ and gone, and Marco needn't so much as flutter an eyelid.

_Easy._

Tom bit his lip and leaned forward on his fingertips like a hunting cat, resisting the sudden and bizarre urge to swish his tail thoughtfully. He wasn't wearing pants, so it wasn't tucked safely away like it usually was, but even so, he was quite self-conscious of it, and he generally held it shyly coiled in the small of his back, or tight against his leg, somewhere out of the way, where it couldn’t betray too much of what was going on in his head.

Obviously he was going nuts.

He swallowed his rushing saliva and gently, like a shadow, not even daring to breathe, slipped two claws under Marco's waistband, against warm, tender, shuddery skin, and fought back the pain in his chest with a deliberate hiss as he peeled it down to reveal the elusive buttocks. Marco’s rear was too soft, too _pretty,_ and by some bizarre artistic circumstance had a dark little mole on this left cheek as well.

Tom was a little overwhelmed- was he? He was _actually doing this-_ and he shuddered, paused, inhaled.

Star had mentioned something once, about how Marco was simultaneously the sweatiest and the most meticulously clean boy she'd ever met, and how perhaps the two were intimately related. He _was_ very lightly damp against Tom's fingers, and the smells that wafted up off of him were a couple hours’ shower fresh, pleasant but almost nauseatingly chemical to a nose tuned and alert and NEEDING animal rank-rawness like air or a drug.  
  
Tom was vaguely aware of leaning closer, starving and searching, but when he actually found his nose buried deep between those buttocks it came as a bit of a chilling surprise. It wasn’t anything he’d planned on doing; it had just sort of _happened.._ . But it was hard to feel too guilty, really, as his senses were flooded with this mouthwateringly pungent whiff of raw Marco, which meticulous body-wash couldn’t obscure.  
  
Tom’s sense of _wrongness_ was fading, replaced by an overwhelming _rightness;_ when you were thirsty, you drank; when you were winded, you gasped, and _whatever this was_ was certainly the remedy for _whatever this was_ , salt and stink and hormones hitting the back of his nose and his bloodstream like a sugar rush or a hit of caffeine.  
  
Animal, he vaguely knew he needed to make things wet for himself, and he wanted to _taste_ , so he did, the tip of his penis throbbing dizzily where it grazed against the bed, filling him with waves of heady, encircling need. Marco's opening was surprisingly moist and welcoming against the tip of his tongue- _juicy,_ Tom thought, dweebishly- and the taste of him was _unreasonably_ addictive, such that Tom thought he’d die without at least a proper mouthful. Without hesitation he wriggled his face hungrily to be buried between the buttocks as closely as he could, and plunged his long taper of a tongue past the taut ring of muscle and deep _inside_ .  
  
The bottom of Tom’s stomach fell through for a moment as the flesh around him flickered, and the boy’s thighs both stiffened a little, ticklishly, underneath his claws as Tom numbly held them down. Marco was ( _somehow)_ still asleep, deep asleep, but he made a tiny, hopelessly adorable prey-squeak down in his throat, intelligent eyebrow twitching in some faint shadow of judgemental skepticism.  
  
If he hadn’t been in such a wildy stupid state, Tom might well have taken this as reason enough to withdraw and slink off in shame back to bed and agonize for the rest of the night about what he’d done- but to the contrary; there was something even more _delicious_ about it, the idea of being not seen, not known, but nonetheless _felt._ What sorts of precious little sounds would Marco make _later_ , when… ?

Tom swallowed blissfully, drinking from the source, uncaring that his tongue was in a bit of a vice grip. Marco’s insides were so delicate-soft and lively- _hot_ and sloshy and deceptively strong, clinging vigorously around his tongue, by some total accident so deliciously perfect for what he _really_ wanted to do…  
  
_Was he_ , though? Or was Tom just hopelessly stupid now? In this state it was likely _anyone_ would’ve been just as good, just as tempting and tasty, just not as…. accessible, or well, _craveable,_ as Marco, who- he realized with a hint of surprise, had been the first hot-blooded body he’d thought of… _Why??_

He supposed a girl might’ve done just as well- women were certainly more traditional incubus fare. He did _like_ girls well enough, he thought...  
  
It was hard to remember, really, since all he wanted _now_ was Marco, and Marco was quite unmistakably male, at least from this angle, soft testicles nestled in the pajamas not far from Tom’s chin. Maybe it was a silly whim of the moment, but it was certainly was difficult to imagine a girl having the same sort of intoxicating, acrid teenage-boy muskiness that he was practically high on now.  
  
His tongue oozed and squirmed, a miniature tentacle, as he greedily leaned forward, fighting off what seemed to be a very real temptation to sink his fangs right into the sleeping boy’s backside. Tom could imagine the gush of hot-sweet blood, big belly-filling swallows of the very boy-chemicals that were tickling the back of his nose and driving him nuts; he settled for relaxing into the itself-quite-insane urge to fidget and twitch his tail, thankful for the neatness and spaciousness of Marco’s room which left it unimpeded.  
  
He needed to finish this up before he did something _really_ silly and started biting off pieces of soft, tender Earth Boy meat. It was quite disconcerting, he found, how his thrumming penis and growling stomach seemed to be products of the same urge, harder and harder to separate from each other.  
  
Tom took one last savoring slurp into Marco’s soft entrance (exit?), then withdrew, noting with a tingling satisfaction that the warm muscles had relaxed, grown accustomed to his invasive contact. Tom’s face, he realized, as cooler air hit it, was sopping with his own drool, and so was Marco, thoroughly slimy from his testicles to practically the small of his back. Tom swallowed hard, shuddering at the Marco-tastes lingering over his tongue. He wiped his face, a little disgusted at himself, but…. It would certainly be… _helpful_ .  
  
He tested it, probing the neat pucker, gleaming purplish in the moonlight, with a gentle, curious claw. Between the wetness, laxness and the easy tapered shape of his finger, he found himself being swallowed inside with an almost eager ease.  
  
His guts writhed with an overwhelming need, and he shuddered, his penis giving an angry flick that splattered juice over Marco’s skin. He made to claim it, sate it in his other palm, but really? What was the point now?

 _That_ … he _had to_ … Feel that…. _All around him_ !  
  
He was barely aware of withdrawing his finger, nor even the annoyed little breath Marco made as he did; he just _climbed,_ taking his place up above the sleeping boy, trembling hard with guilt and need and exertion. He tried not to breathe too heavily, in case his breath spilled down over Marco and woke him up in….what would arguably be the _worst_ possible way to wake up, Tom supposed, and just….shuddered.  
  
_Corn, what was he doing_ ?  
  
There was no other way to _stop it,_ he just had to…  
  
He bit his lip, nudged himself up against Marco’s shuddery-warm body, and with a sickening effortlessness, like a shadow or a breath, he slipped himself _inside,_ drooling dart-tip, ladder piercings and all _._

Underneath him, Marco murmured softly in vague offense, a tiny sound that vibrated down through his insides.

Despite his precautions, Tom couldn’t help but let out a strangled whimper.

It was _hot_ inside, a vibrant, thrumming human heat that crawled through the metal studs in his cock and overtook his undead clamminess thoroughly.

He shuddered, overcome by the whole _danger_ of the thing, but… now that he was _inside,_ bare and nail hard and surrounded by Marco's snug, ponderously pulsing flesh, everything seemed _right._

He _moved,_ watching numbly at the way Marco’s limp, still-gently-snoozing body bounced resignedly underneath him with every pump like a freshly-killed corpse, and thought he might tear up.

It was weird, and honestly _super_ gross, and despite _everything…_ It felt _good._

He had been a little afraid that it _wouldn’t_ ; that his wild temptations and proclivities had led him down another self-destructive path, another punishment for his passion and his dubious willpower, and that he would be left starving in some new sick joke by some unforgiving universe...  
  
In a way this was almost _worse._ Because it felt _right…_ not even just that, but _necessary._ His hunger spiked to a fever pitch, and though he fought to stay slow, fought to be gentle and let Marco sleep on, unknowing, every second spent without that tight flesh sliding over his pounding cock was like a second without air. It felt like he had to fuck to breathe, fuck to _live_ , and so he _did_ … but it was not lost on him how readily he’d fallen in, greedily devouring Marco like so much corn pudding without really thinking twice.

Somehow Marco was still asleep. It was getting a little absurd at this point, but Tom supposed it was a blessing. In his hunger and desperation, Tom had almost immediately been forced to abandon formalities and was now tugging greedily at Marco’s pelvis as if he were one of those luxury masturbation toys, claws biting carelessly into his soft flesh as he fought to be as deep inside as possible with every thrust. There was a dizzying, stomach-twisting delight and horror at that- the thought of the poor boy waking up long after (corn, _hopefully_ long after), finding himself mysteriously horny, insides dully aching and filled slimy-wet with his sticky demon cum, bottom and sides covered in needy red claw-nicks. It made Tom drool helplessly, and he had to relent for a moment to wipe his mouth on his wrist.

Would Marco _know_? He wasn’t stupid. He would have to… He’d figure it out… He’d be so….

The thought would’ve been agonizing if it wasn’t so thrilling- at least right now, in this moment, when he was feeling more than thinking.

 _Feeling_ was overtaking him. He began to feel like he was treading water helplessly as he drowned, in ear-pressing-heart-throbbing breathless tingling sensation. At some point he almost panicked. Was he, the _monster_ , the _demon_ , doing the devouring, or was he the one _being_ devoured? Because he was out of control and his throat was thirsty and he couldn’t think and he couldn’t _stop_ , and every passing moment was more and more dangerous, inching Marco closer to waking up with every wet thrust of his needy, oily cock.

“C’mon-c’mon-c’mon….” he sang nervously through his teeth. It was like his prick was a black hole for sensation and every touch it received was readily devoured, never enough. Slowing or stopping was worse, because then it overtook his breathing and tore up his own insides instead… he couldn’t be deep enough _inside_ , pump _fast_ enough, _hard_ enough. It was almost like he was _trapped._ It scared him, and his eyes were teary.

_HELP!_

Underneath him, Marco had started making little sounds, occasional soft high murmurs deep in his throat. Maybe he’d _been_ making them all along, and Tom had been too engrossed to notice them all…? They were quiet, and sort of annoyed…. Or _needy_.

Tom might’ve imagined it, but it seemed like the boy was stirring again in his sleep, thighs stiffening and pelvis wriggling against him. Was he waking up?? Was he going to-

Tom had to bite his knuckle to stifle a yelp as he felt Marco’s insides cling and squeeze back at him _just so_.

It rattled violently up his nerve endings, a thrill of pleasure… Tom immediately wanted to make him do that _again_ . Enough of _that_ might… might be _enough_.

Tom’s stomach growled. He clasped more thoughtfully at Marco’s buttocks and kept thrusting, unconsciously rising on his knees, trying to change the angle, trying to do _something_ … His eyes watched hungrily for telltale responses, searching for tensed muscles, little twitches… they settled on the human’s face, and…

Marco’s lips had parted slightly, his brow tense and flickering with swimming dreams. His fingers clung at the sheets, and he nuzzled into his pillow dozily, seemingly unwilling to relinquish his sleep to whatever was disrupting it. He let out another needy-annoyed groan, a little louder this time, and Tom clapped his hand to his mouth a little too late as he cried out, feeling that _nourishing_ sensation of Marco dreamily wriggling up against his thrusts and squeezing against him again, with a dissatisfied sleepy puff.

“Please…” Tom hissed. He knew he was close, or at least he could _be_ close, if he felt that again. What was it about that? Was it that it almost _seemed_ like voluntary participation? It _wasn’t_ voluntary; Tom was pretty certain of that-  if anything, his arteries hummed with a chill of guilt. Maybe he _should’ve_ just called and asked, should’ve been given permission, and maybe aside from some awkward icky formalities, he could've been sated and gorged with love by now and not even have to sneak away after…

But now? Tom realized he was helpless to wait for these little crumbs and scraps of actual interaction, drooling, bobbing as he thrusted with abandon into what was mostly a hot corpse as if he were hovering stationary above it all on little devil-wings. His heart was pounding and he was starting to feel creaky and tired, but he just _couldn’t stop_. Just a little more, just a little longer…

Frustrated, with a heady pant, he tugged himself nearly all the way out and shoved himself back in, _hard_ , slower, but with a particular, agonized ferocity, his testicles slapping smartly against Marco’s underside… what was he trying to do? Hurt Marco? Make him respond?? He didn’t _want_ to hurt Marco, not… _badly,_ at least, but… he didn’t know what to do. Even slowing down like this made it hard to breathe, but flopping fervently away hadn’t helped either, and…

He forced himself inside again. A thrill of terror vibrated up his body, making the hair on his neck stand on end, as Marco readily reacted with a small squeak, with such aware vitality Tom thought he was awake.  
  
He wasn’t... but surely he was getting there? That was obvious enough… he was pretty extra sure by now that Marco could _feel_ him though, especially since the boy’s back had arched a little and his thighs were stiff, unconsciously- Tom realized, swallowing hard- trying to coerce his cock into a more satisfying angle. Was Marco… well, Marco’s _body,_ really getting something out of this???  
  
Shuddering, he tried to take Marco’s cues and continued to push in, more slowly, more deliberately, _experimentally_ … It was actual agony in truth, but the distraction of his hyperfocus on Marco’s dreamy reactions, his flickering eyelids and rhythmic little puffs and squeals, was almost enough to quell it.  
  
Another few thrusts like this had Marco whimpering, and suddenly, to Tom’s absolute horror, one of the still-sleeping boy’s arms swung back stiffly, hand outstretched as if to grip something. Tom would’ve screamed if he hadn’t frozen solid, his arm drawn up out of Marco’s path so that the round-nailed fingers clutched at nothing…

What Marco wanted was leverage. He didn’t get it, and the thrill had made Tom had miss one, two, three, beats in his frantic rhythm; _unacceptable_ . With a surreal fervor, Marco’s starving sleep-fucking body gripped onto the sheet instead, and with a pleading groan, he started bucking fiercely back against the demon inside him- he _started this_ ! _How dare he_ stop??

And everything happened at once.

Tom only perceived part of it himself. That first squeeze jolted up his nerve endings, drew oxygen back into his frozen lungs… When it hit, taken up in the heady richness of it all, the sudden wonderful sensations and _nourishment_ , a babble fell out of his jaws, loud and uninhibited as he found himself _finally, furiously,_ cumming, jamming himself deliriously back into Marco’s rear again, his body all too aware but his mind blank as Marco’s body spasmed and twitched and arched back around him.  
  
It was like someone had cut a tiny portal into Tom’s belly and was filling him up with sweet, heavy, nourishingly-bad-for-you cornshake. Something about this was… everything. He’d broken the seal, vaulted the wall, and now that he was cumming (was it BECAUSE he was cumming??) everything was deliriously good and right and worth it, and all his discomfort and agony and guilt was at least for the moment drowned by the drunken animal pleasure of pushing deep into Marco’s beautiful fluffy twitching body over and over and over again, splitting his ripe mortal flesh with his hot-poker devil prick, diving in so so deep to deliver pump after insistent pump of his gratuitous monster seeds in heady, mind-bending shudders.

Within a matter of moments, he was finished.

He wobbled, but managed to remain uprightish, jerky and floppy like a puppet on strings. Exhaustion cascaded over him almost immediately, like a lava wave, threatening to knock him out flat over Marco’s body in its sweaty, lulling, spent embrace, but he only just resisted.  

Now he just stared, numbly, shaking a little. He felt…. Empty.

Or at least, his head (and his testicles) did.  
  
He burped a little, the air in his belly forced out by whatever strange nourishment he’d derived from his sin. Whatever it was, it seemed to have mass and clung heavily to his ribs and radiated a steady inner heat that brought sweat to the small of his back and swirled out through his limbs to embrace his fingers and toes. What was it _supposed_ to be like to devour an abstract concept, like lust, or… _love_? Whatever?  All he knew was that it had found all his empty spots (physically? emotionally?) and filled them up, at least for now, and his eyes were damp with mute tears from the bliss and relief of it, from the guilt of how unworthy he was of it.

Had he… Had he _taken_ something from Marco? Sucked out some of his vitality somehow, some crazy demon thing like a couple years off of his life (wouldn’t know, wouldn’t miss ‘em) or a pint of his blood, or…. _something_ ?  
  
_Ohhhh, corn_ … Numbly, even though he felt leaden and about to flop over asleep at any moment, he fumbled back, concerned, and looked down at his handiwork. His finally-limp prick remained precariously balanced inside Marco, swimming in its own slippery juices. A flare of guilt rose in him and he too-hastily tugged it free, watching with a dull agony as a thick flood of creamy seeds followed it out in a steady rivulet. It sort of reminded Tom of a horrible popped zit oozing pus, and his stomach turned with disgust at himself.

He really _was_ the kind of creep who would just… cum _inside_ someone while they were sleeping, wasn’t he?

There was no sneaking away from that. Marco had definitely been thoroughly fucked, hole peeking open and skin all rosy and pajamas and sheets splattered all over with flecks of spit and cum and even a little blood from all the places where Tom’s claws had bit too deeply. It kind of looked like an angry cat had attacked him ass-first.

[Illustration: Well-Used Marco](https://i.imgur.com/io8xGmj.png)

_Oh man_ … Tom felt the guilt pooling hard in his sinuses- braindead from his orgasm, he was too dissociated from the situation really to panic, but it manifested instead as encircling pain, and he leaned on one hand and raised the other to blot at his dribbling nose with his wrist and wipe at the tears his eyes had begun to cut loose, smearing the kohl on his cheekbones.  
  
The bed was _wet_ under his fingers, with something warmish but rapidly cooling.

Wobbly, with a clumsy inexperienced attempt at counterbalancing with his tail, he managed to sit back on his knees so he could take his weight off of his hand. He lifted it, turned it in his lap numbly. There was something about the whiff, or maybe the sticky texture…

He looked back down and realized there was a dark, glossy puddle around the now-quite-still sleeping boy’s hip.

_Marco had cum too._

It surprised Tom, probably more than it should have. It still seemed weird that Marco would’ve felt anything, and Tom still didn’t much like the idea that he had, even though all those nerve-jangling little sounds and movements had betrayed it well enough, hadn’t they? Hadn’t it been Marco’s own dreamy throes underneath him that had pushed him, and pushed him, and pushed him over the edge?  
  
It…. it had, hadn’t it?

Tom swallowed hard, his throat aching with his teariness.

Perhaps... he’d had had the wrong idea about the premise of this exercise entirely. If he hadn’t been such a _coward,_ maybe… maybe…  
  
He… he really just wished someone would _explain_ this to him, or at least _try_ to figure him out and save him all this grief. He didn’t _want_ to hurt anyone, not anymore, but…Here he was again.

Maybe it was just his nature…

His fingers twisted agonizingly into his hair and he gagged on a soft little sob.

Above, the AC kicked on, violently icy against his bare skin and silk robe, and a deep, raw sense of embarrassment, vulnerability and shame flooded into him all at once.  
  
Whatever he’d done, it was finished, and he thought now that his seed was spent and his belly was solidly filled with warm, twingy whatever-this-was, he would finally be able to get back to sleep. And boy, he wanted to. Maybe he’d just sleep a thousand years and hope that whatever vile urge that had overtaken him today would never rouse him again…

In any case, the prospect of staying here one moment longer, even to wipe Marco clean or pull up his pants, was becoming too much, too overwhelming, and it was making him sick. He didn’t want to face it anymore. Not now.

So he didn’t.

Robe held shut against his chest, tail-tip dragging despondently over the floor, Tom left Marco sprawled deeply violated across his own twin mattress, cut a hasty portal home, and left, as if removing his actual presence would make any difference at all.

 

\--

 

The morning sun poured through the window and across Marco’s back, slowly, gently, toasting him awake.

Eventually a rivulet of sweat broke out somewhere, and one of his eyes eased open reluctantly, with a sheepish smile in the corner of it. He’d been having some, uh... very _weird_ dreams that he wasn’t all too eager to abandon…

He bit at his lip, flipped the pillow over under his cheek so he could bury his face into the cool side, and closed his eyes again, trying to see if he could catch a little more before it was gone for good.

He felt a little awkward for it and his cheeks went a little warm. He was pretty sure it had been… one of those _sex dreams_ . Or at least it seemed like it had been. Your brain had a way of shuffling things around on you when you were half asleep like this. Maybe it had morphed into something else because his tummy was pressing onto his twinging morning wood and he felt all gross and sticky from the sun penetrating his jam-jams for who knows how long.  
  
Maybe he really should try that sleeping naked thing… but he still didn’t really want anyone to _see._

His hips twitched unconsciously against the mattress as he tried to reclaim the images, the _feelings_ of it. It had felt so _vividly real_ … he could almost feel it now, even.

It had been _super weird_.

Usually when he had sex dreams, they were about girls...  sometimes specific girls with voices and faces, but really mostly just blissful muddled clouds of soft, sweet-smelling girlflesh and something snug and hot clutching him the right place until he wailed and split open and melted into something ridiculous.

Maybe sex dreams were always sort of weird? Because there had been that one he remembered vividly with foot after blissful foot of wriggly garden hose right there in the outdoors section of the Shoppe ‘N Save, and that one... was definitely pretty inexplicable (and also probably not very sanitary).

This dream, he thought… had been about a boy. That wasn’t really the weird part. He’d had those from time to time ever since that perpetually shirtless Italian exchange student had stayed with them that year and saturated the hallways in heady, musky cologne that would worm its way into his nostrils at night and fill his head with images of casual gleaming muscle and the mouthfeel of chest hair.

It’s just… almost all he remembered about _this_ dream, really, was _cock._

He squeezed his eyes tighter shut and felt sweat trickle down from his hair, hips still twitching steadily against the bed as he concentrated. Geez, it was just so…. crude and to the point. He’d dreamed that someone’s cock was _inside_ him, not so much an image but a _feeling,_ and… he’d gone _absolutely nuts_ for it. That was… about it, really.

He was pretty sure he’d dreamed about being fucked before this, or at least, it didn’t seem that outlandish… but was kind of hard to remember now. There had just been something about _this_ dream… It had just felt so _vivid_ , so _real._

He shivered, remembering the electricity of each vicious thrust slapping through him and vibrating him to jelly… He rifled at his damp hair, shyly remembering how _loud_ he’d been, whining and moaning and howling and screaming for more, because it definitely hadn’t ever been quite enough, until… He remembered taking things into his own hands and clambering on top of it and fucking _himself_ silly, his insides alight with this gnawing, insatiable hunger that wouldn’t let him stop, planting his bare foot on Tom’s stupid face for not doing it right in the first place, and…

_Tom._

Marco shuddered with a weird chill, squeezed his eyes more tightly shut one last time, and then let them open, blinking blearily to adjust to the morning light.

He sighed. He guessed it probably wasn’t _that_ weird. Tom was….well... _fine._ He guessed.

He… just wasn’t really sure if he liked the implications that that had on his own psychology.

It was kind of a shame, really, because he was still quite enraptured in the fact that he could practically still feel it, even now, enough that he was still bucking softly into the bed at the thought. His own prick was still a little hard and tingly, sort of pasted to his hip with a gross, generous slick of his own thick seed (why did wet dreams have to be so nasty?), his belly was warm and slightly nauseous with morning arousal, and his bottom felt so intoxicatingly sore and empty, even sort of wet and ticklish as it began to seep out all the seeds he’d forced Tom to pump deep inside of him….

Wait.

_WHAT?_

Marco froze for a second in horror, even as his own stupid prick continued to twinge with a heady thrill of wildly misplaced lust at the thought. He wriggled his hips a little, evaluating.

…. _No_.

No, no, no...

He flopped frantically to his side to twist and try to look at himself, but he already knew the truth from the way he could _still feel Tom’s seed sloshing inside his belly_ , gushing lewdly out of his well-used body and onto his pajamas and thighs as he moved _._

(It whimsically struck him that “demon semen” was arguably the most unpleasant phrase in the universe, just, _in general_. Uggggh…)

Numbly, in utter disbelief, he fumbled back with his hand to assess the damage and found his own buttocks sun-warmed and already bared to the world, covered in stinging, itchy, telltale claw marks.

How many other clawed slimeballs were there that it really could’ve been?

That- that first class _jerk_ had snuck in here, used his sleeping body as a fuck toy, _cum right inside him_ , and _hadn’t even bothered to pull up his pants when he was finished_!

...Honestly?? _Typical_ Tom.

 _Shameful…_ Just….totally shameful. The actual _audacity_ …! You… you couldn’t just... _do that_ to a guy! You...

He swallowed hard, his cheeks red, his heart fluttering vividly in his throat with a violent thrill.

Oh no…

His fingers crept carefully to find the soggy, battered state of his used hole, and he bit his lip and whimpered at how sore it was, the way it stung to the touch. Tom had… had _really been_ _inside of him._ Why? _Why why why_ …

_Oh man..._

How long ago had this been? Because his muscles still felt rosy and soft and loosened, giving way so readily to one, two, three of his fingers to burrow snugly inside… or maybe it was just made easier by the velvety slick of Tom’s seed, everywhere, all over everything, dribbling down over his testicles and clinging possessively to his insides, places Tom shouldn’t have been, deep _secret_ places his fingers couldn’t reach, places that wouldn’t shower clean…

All _marked_ . All _claimed._ He’d been totally helpless, and Tom had just… _vandalized_ him.  

His poor morning-fuddled prick gave another heady, jealous twinge. Gasping softly, he lifted it free of his clingy damp clothes and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He trembled at the feeling of his own cooled, thickened seed squelching around it in his fingers, so smooth and wrong and gross as it began to mix lewdly together with Tom’s over his stiffening shaft with every stroke of his palm.

Marco furrowed his brow and fumed righteously, groaning as he ground back onto his probing fingers, appalled at how deeply he’d been seeded and how he’d been stretched so cock-shaped that three fingers hardly did the real thing justice.

Disappointed, that was what he was. He bit his lip and whimpered, slowly starting to buck more steadily against his shameful, messy hands as he began in earnest to comfort his poor abused body, too sore and too slimy to forget about everything that had been done to him.  

Did Tom think he could just come in here and make a lewd, sticky mess of him however he wanted, _whenever he wanted_??

Marco’s face and ears burned bright red at the thought.

 

\--

 

It was a day or so later, or maybe a week? Tom was deliberately not keeping track, as if by refusing to acknowledge it for long enough it never would’ve happened. Sleeping too much and staying up too long had certainly helped the hours blur nicely together.

_Hah._

So far, so good. He was blaring his music a little too loudly in a language he couldn't understand, eating his fourth bowl of cereal in about a 20 minute period, and coiled around one of his thighs, his unusually disquieted tail was straining to fidget underneath a haphazard web of electrical tape, two pairs of boxers, and his tightest skinny jeans.

Idly he wondered what a good dimension to keep his tail would be, where it wouldn’t accidentally slap someone and cause a lawsuit.

This was normal. Very normal. All normal around here.

His mirror buzzed.

He choked on his spoon, smacked it out of his mouth, fumbled to catch it and pitched his cereal over onto the floor.

He stared numbly for a moment at the milk as it fanned out over the tiles.  
  
Cooooold as ice.

Cooooool as a cucumber.

He reached for his pocket like a very cool, very normal guy and flicked the compact open with only the very minutest, chillest levels of soul-crushing existential angst.

He choked out a sigh of relief that might’ve come all the way up from his toes, except feet don’t have lungs, silly!

He kneaded his temples and shuddered. Was he _really_ okay?

He was _totally_ okay. The actual most okay.

The message was from Star.

He might’ve wondered what she could possibly have wanted since they were not… uh… all that great right now, but if he knew Star at all, she was good at distractions, and for corn’s sake he could really use a distraction, even if it was just a cat meme.

Anything to keep him from thinking about

    _That._

He opened the message.

 

    Hey, Tom. It’s Mar

 

(Tom _might’ve_ immediately thrown the mirror across the room at that point and curled up with his back to that wall for several hours before realizing that the compact was between him and the bathroom door, but really, who’s counting?

Eventually he got up the courage, and only slightly hyperventilating, his eyes already blurry with tears, he crawled to the compact, picked it up, and read on.)

 

   co. I didn’t think you’d pick up if it was from me, so…. yeah.

 

    Were we… ever going to talk about That?

 

    Because if you were trying to be sneaky about it… I have some notes.

 

    What I mean is… If you ever need something, or want something, or wanna DO something, you know you can just ask, right?

 

    I’m serious. Consent is good! Embrace it! What am I gonna do, say no?

 

    (Too cheesy?)

 

    It’s just… Waking up like that was VERY NOT OKAY and all (okay, fine, I did think it was A LITTLE hot. A LITTLE), but… Also? You messed up my set of sheets four days before laundry day. I had to wash them early.

 

    My parents KNEW, Tom. (Not the YOU part obviously, but... the jizz part.) You have no idea what they’re LIKE.

 

    Please. I just want to eat breakfast with my family in peace. Give a guy a heads up.

 

    Anyway… Can we hang out sometime? I swear it will only be SORT OF awkward. :)

 

    -M.U.D.

 

Tom shuddered, just short of sobbing in relief. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting (and he didn’t know why it would’ve mattered, really) but this had not been it.

He guessed it was silly. By all accounts, Marco was probably just a pretty nice guy, but… Tom had often suspected it, and perhaps this fiasco had confirmed it: Marco had… this deep capacity for love that no one was really quite worthy of, much less a deeply flawed mess like him, and yet here was something like forgiveness offered up alongside a condition: _do better_.

Tom hesitated as he made to text Marco back.

Well. It wasn’t as if he could get much _worse_.

 


End file.
